He raced along, pushing people aside, fighting his way through the crowd. She was heading into the market. He shouldered past a farmer, knocking the man’s ale out of his hand. Yelling an apology over his shoulder, Jack tripped over a group of men playing dice on the street corner and fell to his knees – and in that moment he lost sight of Jess. Scrambling back to his feet, he looked desperately around. Where is she? Where’s she gone?

Bridge Street was teeming with tradesmen and farmers, with villagers, entertainers and travellers. His eyes darted from one face to the next in his feverish search. Then he spotted her heading down Wood Street.

‘JESS!’ he shouted. ‘JESS!’

The girl turned towards the sound of her name, seeking out the caller. Yes! Her angelic face matched the locket’s portrait down to the finest brushstroke. It was her!

Jack waved, trying to get her attention across the crowd. ‘JESS! JESS!’ But he suddenly saw her being pulled roughly away by an older gentleman with a tight crop of copper-red hair and a curling preened moustache – and a ludicrously large ruff.

For a second, Jack froze in shock, his voice becoming stuck in his throat. He recognized that man.

It was Sir Toby Nashe.

28: Bear-Baiting

Jack fought his way through the heaving market. He could hardly believe what he’d seen. Sir Toby, of all men, was behind his sister’s disappearance! That scoundrel had taken Jess. Rage rose in Jack and he raced after them. At the crossroads with Rother Street, he saw Sir Toby pushing Jess into a horse-drawn coach, then climbing in after her. The driver flicked his reins and the coach took off.

‘JESS!’ cried Jack, running to catch them up.

Her head appeared at the window and across the distance their eyes met. A brief moment of puzzlement registered on her face, then a flicker of startled recognition. But, as the coach pulled away, a huge man stepped into Jack’s path, blocking her out of sight. A large hand was planted in Jack’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks.

‘Well I never!’ said a sly grating voice. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you.’

Wheezing from the run and the blow to his chest, Jack stared up into the scarred, sneering face of Guy Rakesby. The bearded highwayman towered over him, almost as tall as his heavy knotted staff.

‘Out of my way!’ yelled Jack, frantically trying to get past him and give chase to the fast-disappearing coach.

But the sharp point of a dagger in his back halted his escape.

‘Not leaving us so quickly, are we?’ taunted Hazel, the hawthorn-haired doxy, giving the knife a twist.

Jack winced, feeling the blade bite, as several other members of Rakesby’s gang materialized from the crowd and encircled him.

‘Wasn’t nice of you to leave us tied to a tree like that,’ snarled Rakesby, ‘not nice at all.’